


He Wore Red

by pennydreadful



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Humiliation, Orgasm Denial, Restraints, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennydreadful/pseuds/pennydreadful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kitty caught a mouse. Mouse kinda likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Wore Red

She’d kept him bound for three days and everything was tight; the collar around his neck, the silver chain that hung from it perfect for her to yank him forward, face-first into her pussy; the straps around his wrists, keeping his hands either lashed to metal or held behind him, she said so he couldn’t touch himself; the steel ring, high up underneath his balls and gripping the base of his cock, keeping him agonizingly erect. Sadly, at this point he wasn’t even sure he needed it to stay hard.

Because he liked this, more than he wanted to admit.

She stood in front of him now, hands on her hips, wearing nothing but red silk panties and a matching bra. Both skimpy pieces of fabric barely contained her, clinging tenaciously to her ample, overflowing tits and the broad curves of her hips. Her legs were long and ended in shiny black leather stilettos. She looked like the worst wet nightmare he’d ever had.

"I see I still haven’t beaten all the sass out of you," she said. "I thought by this point the only words coming out of your mouth would be ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘please.’"

He grimaced. Despite his burning ass—he’d never imagined being put over a woman’s knee would be so hot—he couldn’t resist talking shit every time she walked in the room. It was just how he operated. No matter how hard she got him, she was, after all, one of those black-eyed sons of bitches.

He was starting to think trash-talking only turned her on, however. Demon pillow talk.

"I think you need to be reminded a little more firmly who’s in charge here," she said.

She hooked her fingers under the elastic of her panties and wiggled them down. Dean groaned, not from arousal—okay, maybe a little from arousal—but from dread. His jaw ached, literally ached, from using his tongue. She’d kept herself planted on his face so long he could still smell nothing but pussy. And to think, that was something he’d imagined would be a dream come true. His face was still sticky from her, and down his neck and chest, where she’d squirted all over him, multiple times.

He couldn’t help but be a little smug.

She let the panties drop down her legs, and stepped out of them.

"Get on your feet, worm," she said.

He obeyed, even though it sucked, and with his hands behind him, he couldn’t do it with any sort of grace. His ass and the backs of his thighs burned from the hairbrush she’d taken to him; the one she then gleefully and purposefully brushed her hair with while he still lie quivering and whimpering across her thighs. His knees ached from being on them. His back hurt from groveling. The heavy, hot weight of his cock and balls was a distraction, but he stood tall and refused to be ashamed.

She bent over and picked up the panties, and stepped toward him.

"I might let you come today," she said, as she strolled around behind him. "You’ve done surprisingly good with your tongue. But I think today I’m going to ride that fat cock one more time to my satisfaction, before I let it deflate. Lift your foot."

Dean furrowed his brow, frowning, but obeyed. He realized a moment later what she was doing, when he felt the soft whisper of silk sliding up his calf.

His cheeks burned as she worked the panties up his legs. They grew even hotter as she attempted, fruitlessly, to tuck his erection into the front of them. She snapped the elastic against his ass and he winced at the sharp pin-pricks of pain that broke out over his abused flesh. She laughed at the way the front of them stood out away from his body, unable to contain him.

They brought back memories from long ago, but Rhonda Hurley sure wasn’t on the same level as this literal bitch from hell.

"Sissy boy," she whispered, close to his ear. "Red is your color. Especially here." She pinched his cheek, above his jaw, and he winced.

She circled in front of him and looked him in the face, her eyes hooded seductively, blood-red lips pulled in a cruel smile. She slipped her hand down his chest, scraping her nails.

"If you please me today," she said, stepping in close so her voice curled around him, "and you don’t give me any more lip, I’ll let you come on my tits. I’ll even give you the gift of licking it off afterward. Now, what do you say to that?"

Dean shifted his jaw. His cock throbbed against the silk.

He cleared his throat. “Yes ma’am.”


End file.
